chapter 6

The men were in complete silence, their hearts racing as their eyes fixed on the shadow moving in the distance. The sounds of nature around them seemed to have stopped entirely, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. The air was thick, the tension visible on the faces of each villager. Garlan signaled, and slowly the men began to approach, moving with caution. Their feet barely touched the ground, and their spears and axes were ready for any threat ahead. The sound of breaking branches once again pierced the silence, coming from a point ahead.

"Be careful..." whispered Torin, his eyes scanning every movement in the shadows. The dark shape ahead seemed to move with an eerie grace, disappearing and reappearing between the trees. With every step, fear deepened in the villagers' hearts, and the instinct to survive took over. Garlan didn't hesitate. He raised his spear and took a step forward.

"Get ready…" he said, his voice tense. "It could be a trap."

But in the next moment, the shape they were watching leaped from the shadows with an agile and swift movement. The men flinched, and their spears were raised, ready to strike. However, when the creature fully emerged from behind the tree, the group stopped, stunned. It was a rabbit. A simple gray rabbit, hopping along the trail, its long ears swinging with the rhythm of its jumps.

The collective sound of relief was almost palpable. The men, who had prepared for the worst, were momentarily paralyzed. The rabbit ran along the trail for a few meters before disappearing again into the vegetation, leaving behind a mixture of shame and relief.

"Damn…" muttered Elric, his face flushed with embarrassment. "This can't be real."

Garlan lowered his spear slowly, still staring at the spot where the rabbit had vanished. The tension was gradually dissipating, but he knew the forest was still full of dangers, and the fear of a real ambush hadn't disappeared.

"It's not what we expected, but…" Garlan took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "That doesn't mean we're free. Stay alert."

Torin let out a sigh of relief and gave a short, almost nervous laugh.

"It seems the forest is playing tricks on us, but… we can't forget that we're still after something much worse. Let's move on."

The men nodded in silence and began moving along the trail again, the shame of having been startled by a mere rabbit gradually turning into caution. Every movement now was accompanied by heightened vigilance. They knew that, in the middle of that vast forest, real danger could be lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike. And deep down, Garlan still felt a strange presence. The sensation of being watched never fully left him, as if, even after the scare with the rabbit, something or someone was still watching.

From high in the trees, the three archers remained still, almost part of the forest itself. Their silhouettes blended with the shadows of the canopy, watching the group of villagers with deadly calm. The archers were perfectly positioned, each in a different tree, their clothes camouflaged with leaves and branches, their postures unshaken. They knew the hunting party was getting closer, but they also knew the right moment to strike had not yet arrived.

The leader of the archers, an elf with a penetrating and calm gaze, watched each movement of the group intently. His eyes assessed the men's stances, studying their routes, their restlessness, the small details that could indicate weakness or distraction. He knew they were villagers, likely without much real combat experience, but that didn't make the hunt any less interesting.

"They're starting to move again," whispered the archer on the left, his voice low like a sigh among the leaves. He adjusted his posture, his eyes fixed on the group advancing cautiously through the forest. "It seems the rabbit made them lose some of their composure."

The archer on the right, a younger elf, gave a slight smile, but his expression was serious. He knew that what was lurking was far more dangerous than any rabbit.

"We must not underestimate them," he replied, his voice almost inaudible. "They're fools if they think the forest is just a game. When the time comes, we must be quick."

The leader of the trio remained motionless. His eyes never left the group of villagers, tracking every movement, every word exchanged. He knew patience was one of his best weapons. The trap was not yet ready to be sprung, and he would not make the mistake of attacking before he was completely certain that the villagers were within perfect range.

The men were now closer to the area where the terrain started to become more difficult. The sound of their conversations still reached the archers' ears, but it was muffled by the gentle breeze passing through the trees.

"They're closer…" murmured the leader, more to himself than to the others. His fingers began adjusting his quiver on his back, feeling the tension of his bowstring. He knew the moment was near. "But not yet. We can't afford to miss."

A slight crack on the ground below made all the archers freeze, their eyes now fixed on the direction of the sound. One of the villagers had stepped on an exposed root. Although the sound was faint, it was enough to alert the archers that the ambush was near.

The villagers continued advancing, unaware that they were being watched by sharp, relentless eyes, hidden in the shadows, waiting for the wrong move. The leader of the archers made a gesture, a barely noticeable movement, and the other two archers began preparing.

"We'll wait a little longer," whispered the leader. "They need to get closer."

The archers remained in their positions, their hands steady on their bows, eyes alert to every movement. The forest seemed to hold its breath, and even the wind seemed lighter, as if waiting for the signal that the hunt was about to begin in earnest.

The leader wasn't just waiting for the right position; he was feeling the ground. Every second of waiting was a cold calculation, an opportunity to ensure the attack would be perfect. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he made the signal. It was time to act.

The villagers, unaware that they were approaching a deadly trap, advanced through increasingly dense terrain. The trees around them grew taller, and the space between them closed in, creating a sort of narrow corridor, where the thick leaves blocked much of the daylight. The smell of the forest was stronger there, a mix of moss, damp earth, and rotting wood. The sound of their boots crushing dry leaves seemed louder now, echoing in the heavy stillness of the area.

Garlan, leading the group, signaled for them to slow down. Something wasn't right. The sensation of being watched, which had been bothering him since they left the village, was now almost palpable. He stopped for a moment and looked around, the tension visible on his face.

"Something's wrong…" he murmured to Torin, who was closest. But before he could finish the sentence, a violent crack came from his left. The group turned instantly, but the sound was not followed by any obvious movement. They were now in the center of the clearing, surrounded by tall, dense trees, and the atmosphere seemed even more isolated. The shadows were deeper here, and the feeling of being watched grew with every passing second.

That's when, in a swift and synchronized motion, the three archers shot simultaneously. The first arrow cut through the air and struck one of the villagers ahead, the man who had been carrying an axe. He had no time to react before falling to the ground, a muffled scream escaping his lips as the arrow lodged in his chest. The impact was brutal and precise, the blood staining the leaves around him.

Before the group had time to understand what was happening, the second arrow struck a man trying to crouch behind a tree. He was hit in the neck, and the sound of his scream was cut short by the fatal blow. The other villagers began to scatter, shouting, trying to find shelter, but they knew they were surrounded. It was too late to run.

"Ambush!" shouted Garlan, trying to organize the men, but his voice was lost in the chaos. He knew there was no time. Death had arrived in that clearing.

The archers were now in motion. In an instant, one of them jumped from his elevated position and moved to just a few meters from the group, still unseen among the trees. He fired another arrow, hitting a man who had been trying to run toward what seemed like an exit from the clearing. The man fell to his knees, his body stretched out before turning and falling to the side.

Torin, his eyes wide, pulled his spear and advanced with an impulsive movement, trying to gain ground, but before he could take more than one step, a third arrow struck him in the leg. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, the spear hitting the ground with force, while blood began to drip from his wounded leg.

"We're not going to make it…" said Torin, breathing heavily as he looked around, trying to find any sign of help, but the archers were everywhere.

Garlan, with his heart racing, searched for an escape. The archers weren't just attacking from the trees; they moved with the agility of predators, coming from the shadows, attacking with precision. He knew they needed a different strategy to survive, but panic had taken over his men. The terrain was against them, the trees like walls around them, and the archers were like ghosts, attacking without being seen.

More arrows began to fly, but this time, Garlan made a desperate decision. He ran toward a dense bush, crouching

and trying to hide. But the moment he was just a few meters from cover, an arrow lodged in his shoulder. He let out a muffled scream, falling to the side, the pain burning intensely.

The archers kept firing, each arrow a death sentence for the villagers. The arrows cut through the air with deadly precision, finding their targets amid the growing panic. The clearing became a silent, dark battlefield, where the cries of pain were drowned out by the sound of arrows slicing through the wind. The archers moved with the efficiency of predators, a meticulously planned spectacle of death.

And as the last of the villagers fell, the elven leader made a silent gesture for the carnage to cease.

The forest returned to silence, only the sound of the wind passing through the trees breaking the stillness. The leader of the archers looked at the others, his eyes cold and calculating. They had completed their mission.

He made a gesture, and the other archers began to approach, the bodies of the fallen villagers around them. With a calculated look, the leader didn't allow himself the luxury of observing any longer. The job was done. He made a motion for everyone to withdraw, disappearing again into the shadows of the forest.